A Pleasant Ripping
by Dollywaffles
Summary: Fenrir Greyback takes a vicious pleasure in his job. A peek into one night with, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today.


Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own, any of the characters mentioned in the story below, nor the premise, nor the world of Harry Potter. All rights belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. This was written purely for fun and not for profit. The only characters I make any claim to are the Wellers.

If Fenrir Greyback were a normal wizard, he might have looked to the sky and noticed what a beautiful night it was. He may have paused to take in a deep breath of air that smelled of rain and wet brick, and he may have noticed how peaceful and quiet the town was, asleep in their beds. Unfortunately for the town, Fenrir was not a normal wizard.

He had been charged with a job. Usually, the thought of taking orders from a wizard would make him snarl, but the wizard in question was not usual, and the job was pleasurable. Fenrir walked along the empty street, surprisingly swift for a man of his size. He didn't make a sound, appearing to be more a large shadow than a man. The village streets were not well lit, and little light came from the houses at such an hour; it was not hard to stay unnoticed. Fenrir smiled and it was a fearsome thing, all teeth and full of danger. He wouldn't be unnoticed for long.

After a few moments of silent prowling, Fenrir paused, looking up at the house in front of him. There was only one window full of dim light, and he nodded in anticipation for the job ahead. A few quick strides brought him to the front door, and for a moment he considered knocking, just for laughs, but the urge passed quickly and Fenrir's sizable hand closed around the doorknob, and he pulled the door open, nearly ripping it off the hinges. He left it hanging rather crookedly and made his way down the corridor, and then up the stairs.

His ears picked up movement, the sound of feet scurrying across the floor above him, and he knew his entrance had been noticed. The Weller family was speaking in hushed, frantic tones, trying to decide whether they should face the intruder or call for help. The discussion was futile, as Fenrir was soon at the door that they'd so valiantly tried to barricade shut with a chest of drawers. He chuckled mirthlessly and pushed the door open, sliding the chest of drawers along the floor slowly.

The family was huddled in the far corner of the room; they'd pulled one of the child-sized beds in front of them as meagre protection. David held his son close to him, the small boy clutching his father in fear. The young girl was hidden behind her mother's protective arms, and Sarah wore a fierce protective expression, one that she hoped was hiding the incredible fear wrenching her heart. It was quite a picture, the four of them trembling at the sight of the rough, dangerous man in front of them. He needed no introduction; the couple was well aware who he was, and what he'd been charged to do. He stalked slowly to the middle of the room and drew his wand, casting a few charms to muffle the sounds that would certainly be forthcoming. The wand seemed a foreign object in Fenrir's massive hands, hands that seemed more suited to ripping and rending than swishing and flicking. However, flick they did, and the couple's wands flew across the room to him. He stowed them safely in his pockets.

"David and Sarah Weller?" His voice was grating and raspy, and dangerously low. The couple nodded fearfully, though David, to his credit, stepped away from the group and tried to hold his head high. Fenrir grinned, showing rather canine teeth, and a visible shudder went through the little family.

"I know what you're here to do." David said, his voice trembling even as he tried to sound controlled and brave for his wife and children. "We'll never swear loyalty to him."

Fenrir shook his head, chuckling darkly, and the sound rumbled like thunder to the children.

"He won't be pleased to hear that. Me, on the other hand. I really don't care. This way is more fun for me."

David hadn't realised that Fenrir had been moving closer as he spoke, his animalistic creeping bringing him nearer to the frightened man. Suddenly, Fenrir was right in front of him, smelling foully of death and carnage. He pulled a bundled length of rope from within his filthy layers and had David's feet and hands tied together before the other man could attempt to struggle. Sarah screamed and the children got even closer to her as Fenrir pushed the bed aside and produced another rope and started to make his way to the shivering trio. His fingers closed around Sarah's upper arm and he pulled her from the wall with a hard yank.

The children released her in shock and then grabbed each other in a last ditch attempt at protection. Fenrir tied Sarah in the way he had David, then bound them together, seated on the floor.

The couple was confused; why bind them, why not just slaughter them? Then understanding dawned on both, almost simultaneously, and they began to shriek and wail. Fenrir rounded on them with a snarl; he ripped Sarah's shirt off and stuffed part of it in her mouth, and part in David's, to muffle the incessant noise. Such an annoyance.

Granted, he could have easily had silence and no struggle with a few simple spells, but there was no fun in that; he'd rather see exactly how much his vicious actions pained them.

Having obtained a less bothersome level of noise, Fenrir turned slowly to the children. This was the part he would enjoy.

He regarded them for a moment, showing uncharacteristic restraint. The little girl, who seemed barely older than the boy, was white with fear and shaking like a leaf, clutching her brother to her chest. The boy, oddly, seemed to be less terrified. He was paralysed, unable to move in the presence of such an intimidating creature, but he seemed curious. Fenrir was amused, and made a quick decision. He moved to the children and crouched on the floor, so close that they could feel his breath on their skin and see the dried blood on his clothes.

"What are your names?" he asked, his low, rustling voice full of malice and authority. The boy answered first, murmuring that his name was Ralph. When she didn't say anything, Ralph kicked his sister, who barely whispered that she was Margaret. Fenrir reached out and stroked a dirty fingernail across her cheek. "Juicy. . . " he murmured, flashing his teeth. The girl blanched even paler, and he felt a little kick at his side; apparently Ralph did not approve. He lifted the little boy and carried him by the shirt to where his parents sat, still shrieking through their gags, and tied him to them on a little leash. Then he went back over to Margaret in her little white nightie.

Her little limbs looked so plump and inviting, and he wasted no time in breaking her neck and tearing into her, stripping the flesh from her bones and watching the tears stream down her parents' faces. He closed his eyes and savoured the taste; there really was nothing like the sweet taste of a young girl. Little arm followed little leg, and Fenrir enjoyed the crunch of the bone and the spray of blood that covered the walls when he ripped her limbs apart. Blood streaming down his face, Fenrir finished his meal, and then licked his fingers clean. David and Sarah's eyes spoke their horrified disgust and revulsion more loudly than their screams ever could, and Ralph had fainted from shock. Leaving the bloody mess behind, Fenrir untied the boy and threw him over his considerable shoulder. Then he stooped down and looked each of the terrified parents in their eyes, holding their shattered gaze for a moment before he spoke.

"I'm taking Ralph here with me, and he'll be one of my soldiers. I want that thought to be the last thought in your heads." With that, he swiped at their throats and tore them to shreds, and then left the house with his quarry, licked the girl's sweet blood from his lips, and grinned.


End file.
